


One day (you learn to let go)

by NellB0_0



Series: If you can't get rid of the skeletons in your closet, teach them to dance [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Destiny, DestructiveDeath - Freeform, Error Was Geno, Error is Geno, Errortale Sans (Undertale), FGoD, Fate, Forced God Of Creation Inktale Sans (Undertale), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inktale Sans (Undertale), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reapertale Sans (Undertale), This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Underswap Sans (Undertale), afterdeath, errink - Freeform, forced god of destruction errortale sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NellB0_0/pseuds/NellB0_0
Summary: Idea adopted from Firehedgehog's Idea Factory!A very long time ago, Fate grabbed a Sans and twisted him into Error.Every 25-100 years, Fate's magic wanes and Error transforms back into his past self. The only thing this Sans knows is that he seems to be skipping through time.Ink, meanwhile, is the only one that knows what's going on as Error doesn't remember when his true self, Geno, wakes up.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: If you can't get rid of the skeletons in your closet, teach them to dance [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1218168
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115





	1. The pair of Forced Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, the was only the original Undertale of this Multiverse. Then, the Voices came. It all went downhill when one of them, dubbed as Fate, twisted everything for their own amusement.
> 
> Error and Ink just want to go somewhere and take a nap. Sadly, they can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no self-control whatsoever and this thing was born as a result.

At the beginning, there were no deities, no Alternate Universes, nothing. It was just a huge expanse of white, with a glowing drop of color in the middle of it. The original Undertale of this Multiverse, awe inducing in its lonesome. 

Intrigued, higher beings started to take notice of this world. They were interested, since the story could have so many different outcomes and so many secrets! Each bit was treasured, every dialogue appreciated, every friend cherished. 

Every kill done mercilessly.

It was a fun game to play for them. Those were the Voices. The Voices grew curious, little by little. What would happen if someone took apart that original world's code? What if a situation changed just a little? What if they only did pacifist route? Or only genocide?

They didn't dare change it too much, since they didn't want to damage the original one. It had a special place in their hearts, after all. 

But then, one Voice spoke up.

What if they made copies?

At first, the other Voices were hesitant to take up the other's idea. It wouldn't change anything if they just copied the original. Besides, the game felt perfect already for them. It was fun, charming and with just a hint of violence enough to satisfy even the more cruel of them. 

That Voice tried to reason with the rest once more.

They wouldn't damage the original in any way, it would be preserved. But they would make copies, branches of the original, make it even more interesting! Mess with the codes, change some characters, change some personalities or even swap them! 

After the reassurance no harm would come to their beloved original, a lot of Voices each eagerly made a copy of their own. At first, the changes were minimal. Just alternate timelines, different outcomes. Changing a crucial decision, which ended up changing everything else with it. They felt awed, this was something new and entertaining.

Some loved the characters too much to hurt them, so they made bright and happy worlds. Other Voices loved the characters too much to make them boring in their point of view, so they made them suffer, making harsh and violent places.

Soon, other Voices that were wary at first, tried joining in. It was truly a spectacular sight! They decided to keep the characters, but change the world itself. One made a pair of twins, so similar yet as different as night and day. Other Voice made a place filled with Gods and inspired in mythology, since they loved it so much.

Another one made a creative skeleton, way too constricted by his own world because of his feelings. Unhappy with the results, that Voice abandoned their world and abandoned all together. They were frustrated, they didn't like how their own world turned out. That Voice left forever, to never come back.

The original one, the entity that suggested this in the first place, saw this. They took the Sans of that world, so damaged and broken, as their own. Just in the nick of time, too, since they barely managed to save him before his AU crumbled. The skeleton's soul was damaged, but this higher being didn't see anything to fix, oh no.

They saw an opportunity.

They noticed that more and more higher beings were going away, either abandoning their worlds or letting them evolve on their own. They could use this for their own advantage, for their own amusement.

That higher being, that Voice, ended up dubbed as Fate.

With gentle hands that didn't add up at all with their intentions, they gave the damaged skeleton a way to keep living, a purpose. To create and help the other Voices so they wouldn't quit too. Under Fate's rules, of course.

It became a flawed system fairly quick. 

Fate was ambitious. They never had enough of this original world's variations. Feeling empowered and curious, they forced the Sans to keep creating. Always keep going, no matter what. To make more, to create more. To the Sans, it was a nightmare.

There was a moment were another Voice, a much kinder one that sympathized too much to let their beloved characters suffer in such a way, tried to intervene.

"Fate!" screamed said Voice, Destiny as the other used to call them. "Your chosen is creating too much, tell him to stop!"

"Stop?" Surely, Destiny was joking. This was the more entertainment they had had in ages! "We have so many possibilities, so many worlds... and you want me to stop?"

Destiny looked warily at their friend. Their once kind friend, the one who held so much love towards the original Undertale that suggested this copy system as to not damage it. Destiny wasn't blind, the strings holding everything together were way too tight, stretched thing. It was just a matter of time before it was too much and it pulled, bringing everything down with it.

"I'm sorry, friend, but I can't let you do this to our beloved creations. You need to stop and you need to stop now, before it's too late."

Destiny kept going, trying to reach out and convince the other. Fate wasn't listening, though. They just stared at Destiny, as if seeing them for the first time in their life. That gaze was so cold it froze Destiny down to their very core.

"You don't let me do anything, dear Destiny, because I do what I want" Fate began, before whispering in a threatening tone. "And if you keep insisting on getting in my way because of too much Creation, there's an easy solution for that."

Destiny startled, not sure where Fate was going with this. Suddenly, they felt a tug from inside them. Destiny gasped, in pain.

"I just need a Destroyer to balance the Creator. And since my dearest Ink has his soul in such state of disrepair, fragments barely holding together..." and Fate smiled cruelly at their friend's pain, for they took something from them. Or rather, someone. "How about I use that Sans you're so fond of, the one with just a fragment for a soul?"

Destiny's begging words fell on deaf ears, for it was too late. Destiny's chosen, their darling Geno Sans, had been coldly snatched away from them.

Fate looked at the little fragment in their hands, their glowing white hands twisting it until it was barely recognizable as the being it once belonged to. Smirking, Fate ignored the desperate Destiny and dropped their new Destroyer carelessly on the Multiverse, without caring where the other ended up.

"Go now, little destroyer. You're an error, a mistake. So erase the worlds that are one as well, for they do not deserve a place in my perfect Multiverse." Disregarding their original name, as fitting as Genocide would be for such a task, Fate addressed them as their new God of Destruction. An abomination. A glitch. "You're name from now on, is going to be Error."

Destiny just watched, impotent as the being they loved so was made into something new, something corrupted, something terrible and full of suffering. Destiny has always been one of the kindest, always trying to ease the suffering of the ones they favored. But all the kindness in their warm orange being could never forgive what Fate, that horrid and completely white higher being, had done.

Destiny swore, just as they watched the newly dubbed Error awake for the first time in the white of the Anti-Void, that they would make Fate loose their hold on those two skeletons. Forced gods shouldn't exist, neither of Creation nor Destruction. They prepared themselves to fight Fate, even if the white one was the strongest of the two.

At the very least, Destiny would give both Ink and Error a fighting chance.

* * *

Ink had been creating a copy as he usually did nowadays, too tired to keep up with the speed Fate demanded of them. Creating new worlds took time and care, it was a long process, so they made due with what they could. 

The copies were loathsome, in his opinion as an artist. It was one thing to remake a work of art until you got it just right. It was another thing entirely to just copy paste said work in another canvas, like it was a chore.

Ink knew that this could very well be the Multiverse's doom, so he found solace in the fact that even if the copies died, at least the rest of the Voices who had been locked out from interfering since Fate's take over, could still enjoy what would be left. 

He was doing such a task, another copy of bittytale since Ink wanted to ensure the survival of at least one copy when everything inevitably snapped, when he felt it. An AU had crumbled. It hurt a bit, his soul way too broken to give him the feedback he should have otherwise.

At least he wasn't soulless. 

At least he could feel something.

He couldn't even imagine the pain he would be in had he still been whole. Worried, since it felt way too soon for their Multiverse to collapse, Ink went to check out what had happened. When he arrived, multiple copies of Ghosttale and Undermafia were missing, freeing up more room for the AUs to survive.

It didn't look like the destruction affected any original around, as Ghosttale and Undermafia still existed.

The first clue he got was the sound of static. The second clue, a flash of black and navy blue. A skeleton, similar to himself in a sense, stood before him. Both looked at each other with dead eye-lights, before both widened their own eye-sockets in realization.

Another being, just like them but not. An opposite, for them to fight and balance. Amusement for the cruel Fate.

Just another twisted being forced to do a job as a God they didn't want.

They nodded at each other.

"Name's Error."

"I'm Ink."

One, a Sans that committed suicide because his AU had been abandoned by their Voice, the one who created the Core Code of that world. Fate saved him just in time to suit their needs and while they would have preferred a soulless Creator, one with their soul in shambles and barely holding itself together would have to work.

The other one, who was just as fragmented as their chosen God of Creation. A glitch that had managed to beat impossible odds to survive and thrive, start a family and have a happy ever after in his own way. Snatched from his life and family to suit the needs of a cruel system that was tipped against him. Would this glitch manage to beat impossible odds again? And if so, for how long?

How interesting. To Fate, this was perfect. The stage was set.

And so, the strings of Fate started manipulating the stage behind the scenes. But the unhinged Voice that was Fate was too focused on the events of their new favorite playground, ignoring Destiny. The orange higher being decided then and there what their strategy would be.

They would drain Fate to the best of their ability, as that was the only thing they could do unless the Sanses they were trying to rescue did something drastic. They would free Geno from Fate's chains, then drag Ink along to free both. It was just a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read my other stories, you may already know, but still. English is not my first language, so if you spot any errors let me know! I would appreciate it.


	2. Ink tastes freedom (Fate's magic wanes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink pesters Error trying to be friends and starts having hope after so much angst.

"And don't come back here!" shouted a Sans to Ink, who was grinning sheepishly while covered in head to metatarsal in paint and jumping through a portal to Dreamtale, headed towards Dream's house. 

It was so not his fault that copy #34 of Sugartale didn't enjoy his suggestions in decorations, edible colors only lasted so long, it was better to use the normal ones if you wanted them to come out just right! It wasn't like it was poisoning... much. So what if it poisoned normal monsters to an extent, being extremely worse to humans?

He could create the item with the right colors and it being edible, but redecorating with pre-existing stuff was so boring to the artist sometimes. Where was the innovation? The curiosity to explore new possibilities in the world of art?

Ink sighed. Sadly, he knew it wasn't possible for him to do so in a new AU, Fate's forced rate of creation was too much. The constant rush, the screaming, the anguish. It was oppressing, his soul feeling like it would scatter at last. Then again, maybe even that wouldn't be enough to kill him, to free the Forced God of Creation from Fate's hold. Breaking his soul in fragments himself didn't free him at all. He didn't die, like everyone he knows would, so what would his soul fragments escaping like handfuls of sand from his own being do? 

Would he end up as a puppet that deity would have full control of? A lifeless doll moved by strings invisible for everyone? Would he end up as a soulless being, accomplice of Fate's cruelty without having the ability to care about the people he knew?

Ink didn't know, and that prospect terrified him. So he always pushed himself more and more, because if he didn't, the white string from Fate surrounding the culmination of his being could snap and it would be so much worse. For everyone. For Dream, his trusted friend and companion. For Blue, who he knew secretly cheered up Error thinking no one noticed. For all the Sanses he knew, even the Bad Sanses.

Would he be able to stop if he didn't have his emotions? Stop before things got out of control? Ink didn't think so, being almost soulless was a complicated affair, he didn't want to think too deeply about the possibility of loosing what little emotions he still had.

And then there was Error, who only had the Bad Sanses and Blue on his side. But he didn't dare tell a soul about his friend helping the supposed foe. He knew that Error was just like him, in a sense. He had known it even all that time ago when both met for the first time, the imprint of Fate's presence painfully clear for both to see around them. Ink secretly cheered for the Underswap Sans every time he went away to meet with the Destroyer, even covered for him when Stretch started wondering where his brother was.

Hell, Ink once created a copy of Underswap and grabbed the Sans from there to pacify Stretch. Sure, he dusted the Sans afterwards so that copy of his friend couldn't tell anyone, but it was the intention what counted, right? And it wasn't like he couldn't get away with it, just a bit of adjusting and the AU didn't even notice something was wrong because they didn't have one of the key characters.

There! New AU! He was such a genius.

Ink was glad he could feel so many things. Anger, joy, sadness. Even if he knew the state his soul was in made him a bit of a weirdo, he didn't care. It was enough for him that he could care for his friends the Star Sanses and Error, his friends!

Because they were friends and Ink wouldn't accept any other option. He just had to manage to get that fact through Error's stubborn skull. The other had it even worse than him, being so hated through the Multiverse because of what they were forced to do and all that.

It wasn't like the artist didn't try to help. Every time he tried to shout someone to stop, to tell why they shouldn't attack the glitch, the words got stuck on his metaphorical throat and wouldn't pass his teeth. His movements became heavy, his thoughts shutting down and his soul felt numb. One time Ink even blacked out. Almost gave Dream an aneurysm with how much panic the other had in him that day.

It had been a long time since then, but that passing out incident was imprinted in his mind like it had been yesterday. Ink didn't want to think of the implications, but was avoiding every topic that made him uncomfortable any way to live? He had so many things to fear and angst over it was a miracle he wasn't just a lump on his sofa.

That day, instead of seeing black like everyone when passing out, Ink saw white. Just white. White hands, white face, white eyes. White background that melted everything together. Ink shuddered, remembering the memory. Next thing he knew, he was above a heavily injured Error, Broomie at the ready to give the final hit necessary to dust the other. 

His hands trembled even now, when recalling that memory.

Error had looked genuinely scared of him, his expression... Ink couldn't give it a description, he didn't understand such complex emotions stirring through his counterpart's eye-lights. 

The cheering Sans behind, the gold light surrounding him from below, the light cascading in the Judgement Hall... It reminded him too much of the Doodle Sphere, where he listened to Fate beating down the other Voice's into submission, only leaving alone the one's who went along with them. The yellow tint, the white i his vision, the voice of the Sans from behind him somewhere Ink wasn't able to see at the moment.

Ink had ended up throwing red paint at that Sans, dusting him instantly. 

He felt his breath shallowing and gulped. He remembered standing there too, just breathing and backing away from the fallen Error, who kept staring at Ink with such complicated emotions.

In the end, Error had gone away, leaving Ink with inner turmoil and a stretched hand, as if reaching for the black-boned skeleton and explain that he wasn't himself. Something else, someone else, took hold of him and almost dusted his friend.

Trembling, he had looked at his shaking hands with something akin to horror. He could almost see the gray dust in between his phalanges, making them feel crusty and rubbing in his joints, the grainy substance eroding the bones. 

He would never risk it again, he just couldn't. So he never attempted to speak up that much again, even if guilt stirred in him when Error's clothes moved in just the right way, letting him see the extent of the damage on his counterpart's body. And yet... That loss of control, the powerlessness and waking up in such a way...

Ink had feared white ever since.

White meant pain. White meant rushing everywhere, feeling the silent and controlling gaze upon him at all times. A continuous threat. White meant **her**.

White meant **Fate**.

* * *

Dream had ended up kicking out Ink. Again.

Which, rude! He just set the other's kitchen on fire once, it was progress when compared to other times. It wasn't like the time he set fire to the whole house just by burning toast because he forgot he put them on the pan. Or like the time he tried boiling a pre cooked soup with potato and left it there for three hours while he was playing a solitary game on the livingroom.

Dream didn't seem to agree with Ink on that.

At least Dreamtale had sunlight and fresh air, not at all like the Underground Ink could usually find himself in. It was a nice change of pace, he supposed.

It was a summer day, the heat boring down upon the Forced God of Creation. Bright sun, fresh air. Just like your usual Surface timeline, easy to get lost in its simple beauty and simplicity because of the freedom it offered when compared to the cavern system of the Underground.

He looked around, seeing the black spots where grass was burned years ago and vegetation just seemed too weak to grow on them. It was a testament to the twins' battle, the one that ended up with a feral Nightmare attacking everyone and everything and Dream as a stone statue.

Ink still hadn't gotten how that felt out of Dream. If he had more time, the artist would try to replicate the feeling by turning himself into a statue. Sadly, it would have to wait... forever.

Shame. Ink wanted to get stoned as well.

Ink sighed, such a shame. The rays of the sun shined on Ink's eye-sockets, distracting him. A bit annoyed, he tried to protect his vision with his arm and scrunched his face. When that didn't work as expected, he just turned to look at the broken remains of the Tree of Feelings, his back to where the sun was.

They really did a number on it, the poor spirit trapped there never stood a chance. Still, Ink thought this kind of AU was still a good idea. It could get away with so many changes and twists, so many possibilities when the world was an open field. Simple lives, simple rules that still managed to get off the rails. He would love to create another world like Dreamtale one of these days, maybe changing it up so it followed a completely different story instead.

Ink smiled, a flutter of nervous giddiness coming from his soul. Ink thought that was such a good idea. But he probably wouldn't be able to pull a stunt similar to Dreamtale anytime soon. A common AU, just for the sake of the rest of the Multiverse dwellers.

Maybe he would just try and avoid anything balance related, even if it could take a bit of the pressure on his chest off a bit.

That's when he felt it. A tug, a moment, a mere second, of what Ink could just describe as true freedom. 

His heavily damaged soul felt lighter, the colors seemed more vivid and everything changed its tune, his tattoos humming with power he didn't know they could have, nervous and excited chatter from Voices he just barely remembered filling his mind. He stumbled, overwhelmed, and the moment passed.

... what was that?

* * *

"Error! Stop destroying this AU!" Ink shouted, annoyed at the Destroyer. Couldn't the other just have destroyed one of his older and half-assed worlds? This one was just finished not even two hours ago and he had actually put effort in it!

"Shut it, squid!" Error glared at him which, rude much? Now that Ink thought about it, all his friends seemed to be rude. Except Blue, don't forget Blue. Ink felt a burn on his shoulder, an intense pain he only barely processed. Curiously, he looked at the red bone that pierced his bones and poked at it.

He probably should stop getting distracted when confronting Error.

Ink whined. "But Error, can't we talk this over some chocolate? I brought your favorite!"

Error actually seemed tempted. Ink took out the chocolate bar to wave it in the other's face. It seemed to be working.

"C'mon, you know you want it!"

"FINE!" Error snatched the chocolate, grumpy. Ink just chuckled at the cute demeanor of the Destroyer. 

With a flourish, he summoned the reset button of the AU and adjusted it to a True Reset, so no memory of this event or even the Multiverse would be left. He pressed it and grinned towards Error.

"Show off."

In the end, Ink directed Error to a timeline called Underfallen. Just an Underfell rip off where monsters where actually very nice and mushy on the inside. He clapped when Error crushed the codes, a bit of a sting on his body as it happened and one of his tattoos disappearing.

With a tug on his soul, Ink grabbed Broomie and waved good bye to Error.

Back to creating it was.

* * *

Time had passed in a blur of creating, battling and pestering Error with friendship declarations since that time when Ink felt that freedom, that intensity in color and excited chatter. He almost thought it had been an illusion or hallucination of some kind. How he managed to remember it after so much time had passed was still a mystery to him, it had to have been almost twenty years by Multiverse standards.

But when he was in the middle of creating a mix of Underfell and Dancetale, one where Frisk was really a genocidal maniac in disguise who manipulated the Sans, it happened again. Ink recognized the feeling for what it was this time.

Fate loosing control of his puppet, the Creator.

He quickly changed to world down to its very core, being inspired by kind Voices and ideas that didn't want the characters to suffer too much or go rogue for once. He not only took the base elements, but created a whole original backstory, building up the world from basically scratch. It was such such a freeing feeling, such intensity, that Ink couldn't help but let out a delightful laugh.

The colors swirled around him, condensing in a sphere and letting a small explosion that pushed other AUs apart. It had become an original AU.

Ink couldn't believe he had felt it again, he was so excited. He had to tell Error, he just had to!

Ink started to open the portal to the Anti-Void, when the feeling passed once again. Back to the blandness, the coldness... The almost emotionless. 

The Creator let all his magic intent disperse, pouting. At least he knew what was going on this time around. Maybe he should be on the look out for that feeling. it was over almost as soon as it came, but it gave him hope.

Hope to escape from Fate's clutches once and for all.

* * *

"Hey Error!" Ink called to the Forced God of Destruction seated on a dark blue bean bag. He quickly went over his friend and foe, dragging a light brown bean bag he had brought last time. The fact that Error didn't throw it on a random AU promising for the artist's mind.

In reality, the other hadn't even tried because he knew how whiny and persistent Ink could get when it came to his 'quality bonding time with his friend Error'. In summary, not fun for the black boned skeleton.

Ink hopped on his bean bag, looking up at Error with big eye-sockets. The Destroyer grumbled, disgruntled at being interrupted in the middle of his knitting. At least it hadn't been Undernovela marathon this time around.

"What do you want know" he grunted at Ink, trying to focus even more on his knitting so whatever the other said would come in one ear canal and leave the other.

Ink pouted a bit but shrugged. Whatever floated Error's boat, if the other wanted to be a grumpy cat imitation made skeleton, it was fine by the Creator.

"You could be at least a little happier to see me, I bring good news!"

Error sighed exasperated. Seemed like he would have to pay attention it was something important this time around. He just hoped Ink wouldn't start another rant about relationships and feelings or something along those lines, it always made Error's head spin.

Facing the white bones skeleton, Error frowned and set down the sweater he had been working on.

"Then spit it out" Error grumbled with a bossy attitude. "I don't have time for your bull crap."

"That's a lie and you know it" Ink said, teasingly. 

Besides, it was true. If Error truly didn't have any free time he wouldn't be resting on the Anti-Void, nurturing one of the hobbies Ink approved of. So many pretty patterns! And no matter how small, there were always differences on the stuff Error created, so new and creative.

"So? Your point?"

Ink huffed but relented. "Okay, okay. So, you know how Fate has us caught with their strings by our souls?"

Error tensed, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. It was obvious he wanted to forget that for as long as he could. It was easier to pretend they chose the paths they had because of choice, not a deity manipulating their every move, but lying to oneself only worked to an extent.

"Of course I know, idiot, I'm funking living with it every day" Error barked, before adding softly in an angry whisper "and you aren't making it any better."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever" Ink waved the passive aggressiveness off. He was used to it and knew the other didn't really mean it, he was just moody. "My point is, haven't you ever felt that tight control waning?"

Error's face lost all his emotions, staring blankly at Ink. "If this is a joke, it's not funny, Ink."

"What? But-"

"Out" Error ordered, no room for discussion.

"Error, let me explain-"

"I SAID OUT."

Without a word, Ink left.

* * *

Time passed once more. Error had been particularly brutal after that exchange they had, so Ink didn't try to bring it up again. He was still curious about the feeling of freedom, since he got small flashes of it that were over in mere seconds or, if he was lucky, minutes. But he was unsure of what to do with it. He had been just creating and fighting for so long that it was like he had forgotten to just... stop, and smell the roses or some mushy stuff like that Dream always preached.

He tried it at first, to relax. But no matter how thoroughly 'Sans' Ink was, he couldn't bring himself to take a break. He used the free time to put markers on unstable AUs so Error would have an easier time doing his jobs, tormented Dream with his attempts at cooking (it was so hilarious to this point that Ink was thinking about just keeping it up on purpose) or wandering the AUs aimlessly.

Blue had sat Ink down on the Star Sanses base to give him a stern lecture after he had found the Creator walking on Underswap, looking lost on one of those occasions. Blue didn't want to say it out loud, but this behavior was worrying. He quickly called Dream to set up a sleepover, who agreed easily enough.

Ink denied the offer at first, Fate's hold still on the back of his mind, little bursts of freedom over too soon to properly do anything about them making him stumble and trip over his own words.

Blue used rope to tie Ink to a chair.

They had been enjoying themselves after Dream arrived, Ink getting lost on their antics and genuinely having fun when it happened once more. This time, the free sensation wasn't over in a flash.

Ink excused himself and went to his room as quickly as he could. He summoned his soul and noticed Fate's strings around his soul... waning.

This time, it lasted longer. Long enough for Ink to cry happily.

Yet it wasn't long enough for him to do anything about it just yet. He knew now, though. He needed to tell Error. But the other one hadn't mentioned anything about these episodes and had reacted so badly when he had brought it up... 

The thought of Ink being free while Error wasn't... filled him with something akin to dread.

* * *

It had been another twelve years before Ink sensed it once more. There had been instances that came and went, too quick for him to process, so he didn't bother to count those, even if each one was cherished and hold close to his metaphorical heart. 

Given his counterpart's reaction each time he had tried bringing up the topic, Ink had decided to wait until the next long episode to show Error what he discovered. With actual proof this time.

This was the day.

He went to the Anti-Void to tell him the good news while the effect still lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt like a character study of this Ink and I loved it. Next chapter we get to see Error's side of this :D


	3. A slash of red over the white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geno had been sleeping. It felt like a long time passed, yet at the same time not. All he knew was the white all around him, the feeling of eyes watching him, his memories gone.
> 
> He just wants to wake up and go back to a certain someone.

He felt like he was floating, just drifting in a seamless white void. How much time had passed, he did not know, but neither did he care.

His body felt heavy, too warm and cozy to even lift a finger, never mind his tired and heavy eye-sockets.Besides, even if he woke up, what would await for him?

It had been so long... But it was always the same. It was just himself by his lonesome, only his thoughts and musings to keep him company. And even then, he couldn't help but feel betrayed by his own mind.

Who was he? Why was he here? Why him?

Just... Why?

The probability of ever getting an answer seemed farther and farther as time passed, but he had nothing else to do but wonder, question, imagine.

Such was the burden of lonely existences like his. It had always been like that, too, had it not? Well, maybe not at the beginning. Maybe he had had friends, a warm home, a loving family... Maybe, just maybe, he had had the opportunity of sharing bad laughs, eating bad food. Living.

He wanted to live again.

But alas, he knew it wasn't for him. It hadn't been for a long time, it wouldn't be now either. How could he be so sure if he didn't even remember his own name? He just had a feeling.

Maybe his mind betrayed him – was he so far gone before that that fact didn't elicit any reaction, any surprise at all from him? – but his very core, his torn up soul, it remembered... somewhat.

It wasn't like the mind. The body.Those were material, temporary. Dust they were and dust they would become. The soul was what mattered for monsters. And his was just glad that this was a never ending white, not black, for whatever reason. The loneliness, the suffering... it felt familiar, like the embrace of a long lost friend. Like the hug of a mother to her new born son.

Or something like that. How would he know? He didn't even know who he was. Who he had been.

Alone. Always alone. That word resounded with him in a way no other word he had thought up did. He was alone, as he had spent oh so much time before. But this felt different.

It was too quiet, too warm, too nice.It felt like the calm before the storm, the last seconds of life before the guillotine went down, before his being just ceased to exist. Before he cracked and became dust. Was this the afterlife? He felt cheated. Like he should have met someone on the way in if he ever died.

Who, though? There was nothing butDeath when you died. It was a ridiculous notion.

Drifting, his muddled mind identified what bothered him on this scenario the most. It wasn't the pain on his chest, the liquid dropping from his mouth, or even the ache on his skull around his right eye-socket. Neither was the static on the background, even if he wondered why hadn't it given him a headache.Was he so used to the sound by now that it didn't bother him?

Just how much time he had passed inhere.

He was rambling on his own thoughts.Focus, he told himself, his bone brow furrowing before his expression smoothed out again. 

( _Don't let them see you're aware. They're always looking. Always? Always._ )

What bothered him the most, was the white. Why should he fear the white, when it was the complete opposite of what gave him such dread? It wasn't the darkest of darks, where everything blurred together until you couldn't tell up from down, left from right. Where nothing existed, but at the same time, there he was.

That ominous and hated color that was, at the same time, cherished in some distant part of his soul.

He didn't understand.

The black meant pain, loneliness, madness. A madness that slowly overtook his mind, little by little, chipping away at his mind. 

( _Why was it so hated when the white did the same thing? Because of the consequences, determination, our fault. Fault of what? What did we do? We didn't succeed. But what was it? ..._ )

Black also meant freedom, the wings to fly free and away from all these hardships that tormented him daily.Solace. Security. Home.

Love.

Was it the black, the color? Was he just associating things, people, places... to a color, just so it wouldn't ran away from him like the rest of his thoughts and memories did?

Black. All black. A flash of white and sometimes blue. It kept him going, trying to stay determined, to keep existing when thoughts of giving up assaulted him. Of completely letting goof what made him and his mind, his memories, his soul. Surrendering to the white.

Maybe there was someone waiting for him to wake up.

The fuffliness around him was warm, cozy. It kept him sleeping.

He couldn't breath.

He longed for the black, the comfort it would bring. To be able to be near the black again, just once more. He's sure the black would love that, and even he didn't know if the black was a place, a thing, or a person.

* * *

Once again, he noticed the smoldering white all around him. Was it better to not feel at all like he had been previously or keep being suffocated in this place, he wondered. Awareness seemed like a curse now that he noticed the lack of it previously.

That felt familiar, somehow.

He was at a loss. Was there a particular reason for this to happen or was he just that fucked up. How did he even end up here and why. How could he have avoided it if that was even possible. Questions tormented his mind, for that was the only thing he had left at the moment.

He didn't dare move, open his eyes, anything, just in case the eyes were back to watch his every move. The eyes felt powerful and a feeling of despair filled him just at the thought. The eyes, multiple ones, belonged to someone. Who that someone was, now that was the million dollar question.

But even if he didn't know who they belonged to, he could feel the intent behind them. The intent to hurt, to bury him so deep he wouldn't be able to surface again.

He didn't need his eyes to see, his ear canals to hear. His consciousness still felt everything around him, as if in an out of body experience.

While he slept, he noticed the stares, the glares. Now that he had been made aware of them he couldn't help it. It was maddening. He couldn't feel them at the moment, but should he risk it?

Not even a twitch, not even the slightest movement that could out him as conscious of his surroundings. Nothing. Just remain white, blank... Like this place.

While wondering, debating with himself if movement was worth it, he noticed the increase in pressure, the wild static and the stares returning to watch him again.

Never mind then.

* * *

It was not the only time he noticed the pressure leave, that uncomfortable feeling that filled him with dread and an unfathomable rage. He didn't know he was capable of such intensity in feelings after forcing himself to remain blank for so long, but oh well.

It was not like he could remember much of anything.

He didn't breath, he didn't move. He just... kind of existed on this limbo.

He gave up on searching for answers around him, focusing all his efforts on himself. His soul. Or rather, fragment of a soul.

And hadn't that been a shock when he found out? At first, he thought his name was Sans. And while that seemed correct to him, it also sounded... lacking.

He had the hypothesis of this being named Sans being his original self, back when his (or should he say theirs? Definitely theirs) soul wasn't broken apart, a whole monster. But what was his name now, if not Sans.

Geno. Geno was his name, short for Genocide. How... morbid. But fitting, in a sense. He very much doubted it was because he killed an entire race, but it could be. He definitely had the rage inside himself, that very same feeling that caught him off guard, to pull trough with that.

Was he the one to do genocide, the one who planned it, or the one who survived it? And there was the question again, that crucial one, that part of himself that asked if he had even survived at all.

( _Geno. Genocide. Aftertale Sans. We need to remember, even if it hurts. Will it hurt? Oh, definitely. Is it worth it? Absolutely. Remember. Remember! R E M E M B E R!_ )

His finger twitched and he tensed, before forcing himself to relax.

Blank, he reminded himself. He had to remain blank.

* * *

It felt great to finally have a name just for himself. He repeated it over and over, just so he wouldn't forget it again.

Geno. Geno. Geno!

He didn't want to forget who he was once again. He wouldn't forget his name again. He wouldn't!

He refused.

G E N O.

And with that, he went under once again.

* * *

How much time had passed between the last flash of clarity he had had? It felt like an eternity. Days? Weeks? Months?

...Years?

He didn't notice the eyes. The stares, the glares. There was nothing around him. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he was glad he had yet another break. They didn't feel like enough, but then again, he used to use every excuse he had to take more and more breaks. Of that he was certain, even if he didn't know how he remembered. It seemed both right and wrong.

Probably something he had done way back when he was still just Sans, then.

Was his other self missing him? Did the rest of the soul of that being named Sans notice something amiss? Maybe Geno had just slipped away, on an endless limbo.

Geno knew he needed to stop thinking about maybes or what ifs, else he goes mad... or rather, madder. He was pretty sure having a dialogue this complex with yourself was a sign for insanity.

Still, this break had been longer than some in the past. He was grateful.

There were always the weird minute, mere seconds, when he felt free. Like he could feel, think, fucking breath-

But every time he felt the hope gathering in his soul fragment, the possibility of getting out of this weird place... The warmth, the smothering heat, hated and despised with everything he had, always came back to envelop itself around Geno.

He noticed his hope break over and over again. Being stomped on, shattered, broken apart. Still, he couldn't help himself from hoping once more. Geno just needed the perfect moment to break free, a break long enough for him to wake up.

 _WAKE UP AND REMEMBER_.

* * *

Lately, the breaks weren't all that nice. He was still grateful he had them at all, but he felt restless, stressed.

On these breaks, bits and pieces of a life full of sorrow and guilt tormented him. The images were usually blurry, too fast to process anything, but the feelings of them stayed behind. The feelings were almost always the same, too. They weren't really nice, if he was being honest with himself.

But even so, it was fulfilling in a way. There was always the nice warmth of a special someone. Of family, friends. Good times in general. Even the care and love of a lover...?

He had a happy ending, he knew that much. So how did he end up on the white?

Tiredness. Numbness. The flash of a knife. Pain. Pain unlike any he had ever felt before, like he was about to keel over and die, his body becoming dust and becoming one with the wind. Scattered gray particles of something that used to be a person. A person with hopes, dreams.

“ _So... I guess that's it, huh? Just.... Don't say I didn't warn you._ ”

The feeling of his limbs falling apart, failing him. Dust to dust as some would say. Hot liquid poured from his chest, his mouth. The burning on his hands as he tried to stop the flow of that precious red liquid that was supposed to be kept inside himself. Resignation. This wasn't the first time this had happened, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

( _Not the first time...? No, definitely not. Oh._ )

There had been nothing he could have done differently. He was doomed to loose from the beginning, even if he won the battle. He knew that. Sans would always be trapped on this endless cycle of dying, being brought to life to see everyone he knew and loved back being killed mercilessly and then die again.

It would always be like that.

But it didn't stay that way. For Sans, maybe. But definitely not for Geno.

There had been something different, something that created Geno as he was before the white. A syringe full of determination before the fight.

A black void. Feeling incomplete.

To be expected, since he was just a fragment of a soul. He was supposed to belong into Sans' soul, they both were missing a part of themselves, even if Geno's was more noticeable since his whole soul, the culmination of his very being, was just a tenth of a soul.

“ _I'm tired of all this fighting... Aren't you?_ ”

He had met Sans again. Or what was left of Sans, after Geno became his own person. They were very similar, almost a mirror image of the other.

But he knew, he was way too different now to ever go back to being just one and the same with his other self.

“ _Feels like I'm looking straight into a mirror._ ”

His other self, the one who had the main part of their soul... The better part, The part that could feel compassion, love, happiness. The one who longed for peace, the easygoing one.

His other self was soft, kind.

Sans was a fool.

But the question was, was Geno a fool as well?

“ _You remember when I killed everyone, Sans?!_ ”

He didn't know. All he did was to avoid more suffering, more pain. To avoid at all costs another genocide to the hands of that damned brat. For everyone. For Papyrus.

“ _Hahaha! You must really hate your friends!_ ”

Oh how much he loathed- no, hated, Chara.

But even with all this new knowledge of his life he had acquired, there was still something missing. It felt like there was something else very important and dear to him. Or rather, a someone.

That's right. The black.

“ _I die, when I say I die._ ”

Heh, right. Geno was one determined asshole. He still had to kick that good for nothing mightier than thou skelegod's ass. He wasn't finished yet, no matter how much the white suffocated him, made him stay blank and his essence fade.

It was not his time yet.

“ _You did it. I know you did. You spiked the punch!_ ”

Geno refused.

“ _Hey there. Still having a terrible time?_ ”

The black. He... He was important, crucial to all this mess. Geno just knew it. How, though?

That lazy figure, menacing on his posture but there was only gentleness to be found on his eyelights. The soft touch of a caring being, wonder like no other towards the very own Geno. Soft kisses shared on the little patch of grass, away from everything.

The pain, the lonliness, the madness. The black made him able to stay how he was.

Missed chances, small moments and gestures that meant the world to him. Shared nights under a beautiful sky full of stars, their passion and love shared between each other in a bond of souls. Oh, how he loved that idiot.

Black meant home. He meant family.

“ _Shut up, I've given up Papyrus' scarf for that kid!_ ”

But that family wasn't just reduced to the two of them. Leaving the mess of an AU Aftertale was aside, not including neither Papyrus nor Gaster, Geno's family grew.

Where there was once two, then there were three. And more would come with time. At first, it was like a miracle. For how could Death and an eternally dying being create new life?

But it happened.

“ _Gothy, dear, not right now. It's three am._ ”

Oh, how much Geno adored his little one. So, so similar to himself on appearance and clothing, yet so undeniably the black's ( _Death's?_ ) kid on everything else.

That seemingly impossible life that defied everything, that pulled through even after having everything stacked against his existence. And more would come after him.

Goth. Raven. Sorell. Shiro. Geha. Gina. Momo. Reo. Nomi. Karmic. Levi. Silver. Beyond...

Wow, that was a lot of children. What were they trying to create, an army of godlings of Death?

“ _My dear Genocide, why were you crying?_ ”

Was he crying? Maybe on the inside, as he made sure his expression hadn't changed. Still as blank as ever on the outside. 

How unsettling.

How would he even explain that to Death? If the black was even named that. It felt correct, but the longer he thought about it, the more he was certain there was another name he should call him.

A name that wouldn't make his love show that resignation, that deep sadness that always seemed to follow him at the beginning. The hatred of what he was, what he represented. The job imposed on him that he hated.

What was the name? He... Geno needed to know. He needed to-

“ _In desperation, I hoped that once I killed the kid... that I might have enough determination to surpass theirs..._ ”

No, go back. GO BACK! He needed to know, he didn't want to let go. This was the beginning of the end, he just knew it. He wanted to go back, he didn't want this ending at all if it meant he had to give up the rest. The black, Death, he-

Reaper!

“ _I gotta believe things will work out for us this time, you know?_ ”

Papyrus was alive, alive and well. He was glad. Still, that may have been his Papyrus, his very own brother-

But he had more family to worry about. Little ones that depended on him. Babybones, even.

Reaper, stop this. Stop it. STOP ME!

“ _To reset timelines. To change outcomes? Sounds more like a curse than a blessing._ ”

No, he didn't want this anymore. He wanted to go back. 

Back to that huge house, Death's Manor, the one he shared with his husband the times he decided to go outside Aftertale. The little garden he cared for on the backyard, where he would get mad at Raven and Goth for playing on it and ruining it. The little pond of water where Shino liked to sit and hum, playing with his feet splashing water everywhere. The random spots he would find Nomi on, sleeping away the day and night with a smile on his face. Momo modeling her latest outfit in front of Reo and baby Karmic. Levi and Silver pulling pranks on Beyond and causing a huge mess. 

The quiet kitchen where he liked to cook for the little ones. The sofa he would laze on with Reaper on the unusual free day.

" _I'm just so... tired..._ "

REAPER, PLEASE-

So tired indeed.

* * *

Geno opened his eyes. They felt heavy and he couldn't really focus on anything at the moment. Struggling, he noticed white around him.

Was all that he had been dreaming a reality? Surely, it couldn't be.

With a groan of pain, he sat up and rubbed his skull. Just what had happened to him to ache all over. If this was Reaper's fault again, that skelegod was in for the bad time of his life.

Blinking, he looked at his hands until he could properly see them. They were the usual, dull white, a gray tinge to them that betrayed his sickly state that would accompany him forever. A small price to keep living even after being exposed to Death magic everyday, he supposed.

He didn't know why he had expected something different instead, but no need to worry about that now. He needed to figure out how to exit this place that seemed as endless as the Void looming over him on the Save Screen.

Why was it white and not black if it was a Void, though? Was this some kind of weird inverted Void or something? An Anti-Void?

...that was catchy. Yeah, Anti-Void. He would use that.

All this white around him made him uneasy. Looking up, he finally noticed some color. Instead of the 'continue' and 'reset' buttons he was almost half expecting, there were blue strings that seemingly hanged from nowhere in particular. They were just... there.

And wait, were those souls?! And dolls?!

"Yeah, nope. So much nope. I'm not dealing with that right now, no way. Creepy fucker who did that is probably psycho or some sort of serial killer, I don't want anything to do with that."

But he noticed with dread that no matter how much he walked, he could still see the strings. They glowed brightly against the white... everything. How was he supposed to even get out of here if there was nothing else?

So he got up and started walking.

He walked and walked. And then walked some more. He had the urge to start screaming. Someone would hear, right? Someone would come, help him, get him out from this uncomfortable place!

But the irrational fear of voices screaming back at him stopped him.

Eventually, he stumbled upon a bean bag. It was a deep blue with yellow stitched and red patches. It was an eyesore, that's what it was. 

Geno, of course, loved it immediately.

"Well, I may be trapped in a place with no escape, probably with a crazy serial killer somewhere on this Anti-Void or whatever... But at least they have good taste."

He sat down on it and sighed, his body sagging on the bean bag.

"Definitely good taste" Geno purred. This bean bag was glorious, the most comfortable ever. He wondered what the filling was.

( _You don't want to know. Don't I? Believe me, you don't. Why, though? The filling? Yeah? It's dust. Oh... OH, OH SHIT-_ )

Geno felt like this bean bag was too good to be true, a sudden uneasiness from his soul piece made him get up. Really, the one thing that could comfort him and his soul seemed too wary of it to even get near it.

He had to hand it to Reaper. He really was a masochist.

* * *

Ink felt a bit apprehensive, but he was way too excited to tell Error the news with actual proof this time to take the glitch's feelings into consideration too much. Which, happened more times that he would like to admit, but whatever.

He felt his body slowly loosing his form, his bones melting into ink, dissolving and disappearing from sight. His now liquid form sliding through ground, soil, code. Twisting, morphing and adapting to all shapes and forms in order to pass through the gapes of the Multiverse needed to reach his destination, the Anti-Void.

With a splash, he noticed his body landing harshly against floor. It felt weirdly like nothing was there, but at the same time he couldn't phase through the ground anymore. He had arrived to the Anti-Void, then. 

Nice.

Now, he only needed to go over Error's spot, where he had all his stuff. His chocolate, his knitting stuff, the famous bean bag that the glitch wouldn't share no matter how much Ink insisted. His friend was mean like that, but he still liked him just like that, grouchiness and moodiness and all.

Getting near, he heard the static. That was a sign of the presence of Error, the normal one that alerted him of the Forced God of Destruction's presence. 

With the kind of guy Error was, Ink was grateful for the warning.

Although, this time around, the static sounded less... Aggressive, for lack of a better word. Softer, less harsh. He like to paint stuff, not write poetry. 

He hopped on place and, to avoid the Anti-Void's weird take on physics, once he saw the beanbag he just teleported over there.

"Hey there, Errorrrr?" Blinking, Ink's smile dropped as he stared at the skeleton who definitely wasn't the black boned glitchy one he had come looking for. Was this guy the one letting out that static? No wonder it sounded different! "I didn't know Error had even more friends, how cool! Did you come visit him too?"

Ink was beaming again, but his expression got more and more forced the longer the other skeleton just stared at him in disbelief.

"Who's Error?"

Now, now. This surely wasn't what it looked like... right? "Tall, black boned glitchy dude that has error signs all over him? The only one who lives on this place?"

At the blank look he received, there was an ugly feeling churning on his soul.

"Don't know him."

"Oh, well... Then why did you come here? There's, heh" he was getting nervous at all the white surrounding him. He never liked the color, reminded the Forced Creator too much of Fate. "There's not much else to do here and I really doubt Error would just leave you roam on this place."

"I haven't seen anyone here before you."

Poor guy, the unknown skeleton in front of him was obviously shaken. Maybe an accident? But it didn't seem likely with how careful Error was with his portals and personal space. That guy and his haphephobia, honestly.

"Okay, then. I'm just gonna go-"

"Wait! You..." the bleeding skeleton adjusted his scarf. A nervous tick, maybe? "You know how to exit this place?"

Ink inhaled sharply. So maybe it was exactly what it looked like. 

Well, his friend just gained himself a whack with Broomie on the back of his skull. Error was so dead after this, Ink thought they were over this kind of thing!

Please let this be a misunderstanding and not another Blueberror scenario.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's less than I had planned for this chapter, but oh well. My exams start again this Friday, so I wanted to write something real quick before I got too busy again for it. I hope you enjoyed Geno's side of this story thus far! o((*^▽^*))o


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